


Independent Will

by ravenslight



Series: Numbered Chances [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Muggle, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and (a tiny bit of ) Angst, Short Story, seriously I'm obsessed with him, shy Theo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-06-29 01:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19819807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenslight/pseuds/ravenslight
Summary: Independent will - two words that started a whirlwind romance.Theodore Nott has always been the odd one out; lover of books and romance, he tends toward an innocuous existence living vicariously through the characters of novels he loves. One afternoon, though, a stranger in his favourite bookstore chair and accidental quoting starts a romance of his own that he isn’t sure how to handle. Five times Theodore Nott almost kissed Hermione Granger. Non-magical AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends! I'm starting the week with this sappy little fic. It has five chapters, and it's entirely written—shocker coming from me, right?! Anyway, it's a Theomione and a Muggle AU, both of which I've never attempted before. It's a little fluffy, a tiny bit angsty in later chapters, and it was a whole lot of fun to write. Go shower LadyKenz347 and mcal with love for their respective alpha and beta work last night. Seriously, they volunteered to work on this at the very last minute, and I'm eternally grateful for them. On to the fic!

**Chapter 1**

The first time he saw her, she was curled into his favourite overstuffed armchair in the back of the Cozy Corner.

Theo had chosen that bookstore specifically because it was so far from his university in London, tucked away around a corner and behind an old sandwich shop that had seen far better days.

Walking into the bookshop always calmed him, the smell of the parchment-soaked air wrapping around him in a comfortable warmth that he seldom found elsewhere. It was his happy place, and he'd deny that vehemently if anyone ever asked after it.

With a nod to the eclectic owner, he made his way to the back corner—the cliche not lost on him—and silently pursued the shelves for something to read, anything that would help him prepare for his upcoming exams, but chose to settle for writing his thoughts out in the journal he kept in his messenger bag for the moments when his mind refused to slow down enough for him to think.

When he rounded the corner though, his gait slowed. His usual spot was taken.

It wasn't that he'd laid claim to the chair—he often frequented Cozy at infrequent intervals, and he was no stranger to having to find somewhere else to sit. But today, he'd come to the bookstore with that spot in mind, finding it inhabited caused his gaze to narrow surreptitiously..

In his humble opinion, it was the best seat in the house. The shelves in the bookshop weren't organised in any particular manner. The manager was an eccentric old man, his crooked glasses nested atop a mass of wild grey hair, and he'd told Theo on more than one occasion that he believed the best readers were the most determined, and if they didn't take the time to find what they were looking for then they hadn't come to the right place. So instead of resting below a shelf stocked with authors whose family name began near the end of the alphabet, his favourite spot was tucked just beside a bay window stacked with old volumes of wives tales for improving cooking practices and a shelf full of hundreds of Bronte editions.

On this particular day, a girl sat curled within the chair, her legs tucked beneath her and a pair of scuffed oxfords discarded on the rug beneath her. Long, curly brown hair cascaded over her shoulders and into her eyes, and a pair of reading glasses rested forgotten in the neck of the oversized sweater she wore.

Theo studied her, watching her intent gaze on the page, the way she occasionally squinted at the book and brought it closer to her face, no doubt needing the glasses she'd forgotten on her sweater but too engrossed to properly utilise them—a situation he'd found himself in often.

The girl was reading to herself, quietly enough so as not to both the other patrons, but it was a scene that reminded him fondly of the nights he'd spent studying at uni, reciting poems to himself in the stacks where no one could hear.

"I am a bird; and no net ensnares me." The words tumbled from her lips, hushed but confident. Her voice caressed the words, and he smiled at her choice in novel. "I am a free human being with an— "

"Independent will." He hadn't intended to finish the quote with her, but there he was, shoulder propped against the bookshelf opposite her, words slipping out into the space between them. He wouldn't have pegged her as a _Jane Eyre_ or an Brontë fan, and he wouldn't necessarily call himself one either, but…

Some lines stuck with a person.

She looked up from the book across her lap, a pretty blush staining her cheeks. Surprise followed it, her mouth opening just a bit on a slight gasp. "I am so sorry. I hope I didn't bother you. I just—" Her words faltered, and her blush burned even brighter as she stared resolutely at the page in front of her.

He chuckled, righting from his slouch against the bookshelf and nodded at her. "You didn't bother me at all. It's a good book."

The girl made a face, scrunching her nose and shrugging noncommittally. "It's not my favourite but—"

"Some lines just stick with you?" he supplied, quietly enough that she could brush it off if that wasn't what she'd meant. Instead, she looked up at him, a shy smile spreading across her face as she studied him.

She nodded, her blush calming slightly as she broke eye contact, fiddling with a loose string of her sweater. "Yeah. Yeah, they do."

Silence extended between them, and Theo shuffled his feet. Despite the ache in his chest that told him to continue the conversation, to talk to her and learn why she was reading a book that she didn't love in the bookshop, why that same book still made her beam at the printed pages, he didn't know how to ask those questions of a girl he barely knew.

After a moment, he cleared his throat and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Well, I'll uh— I think I'm going to leave. It was nice to meet you—" He paused, unsure of what to say. He'd never gotten her name.

"Hermione," she said, her voice soft as she peered up at him, pulling her sleeves down over her hands. "I'm Hermione. And I'm a Woolf fan." She quirked a brow at him. "Of the 'women can save themselves' mentality."

Theo nodded, once more looking at his feet as he tried to squash his grin at her sass. "I'm Theodore. Well," he cleared his throat, "my friends call me Theo. And I fully believe that women don't need saving."

Hermione laughed, a soft tinkle that filled the quiet space around them, absorbing into the books along the shelves. "Theo. It's nice to meet you."

Theo nodded again and could have kicked himself—one encounter with the girl had turned him into a marionette with his head on a string. And so he turned and walked away, sparing a glance over his shoulder to the woman comfortably occupying his chair.

Her chocolate gaze met his just before he rounded the final bookshelf, and warmth bloomed in his chest.

* * *

Theo saw her again two weeks later. Hermione was standing at the counter of the coffee shop across from Cozy. She wore the same scuffed oxfords from the last time he'd seen her, a pleated skirt paired with a cream cable knit sweater, and maroon tights hugged her legs. In her hands, she juggled several books, and when the barista handed her the drink she'd ordered, she overcompensated for the weight. The books hit the floor with a loud crash, and Theo couldn't stifle his chuckle.

Pausing only long enough to second guess if she'd remember him, Theo crossed the room to the counter, slinging his messenger bag behind him as he crouched down and gathered books into his arms.

"You know, you ought to invest in a bag if you're going to be carting around so many books." Theo glanced up at her with a teasing grin.

Hermione blushed, stumbling over her words. "I hadn't— I didn't mean to get so many, but then I started and couldn't stop and—"

"And here you are, eight books later and in desperate need of coffee," Theo supplied, gathering the last book into his hands and straightening.

Hermione stood and rightened her skirt, glancing balefully at the stack of books and the coffee cooling on the countertop. With an apologetic grimace, she glanced up at him over the rim of her glasses, curls falling into her face. "Do you mind? It seems as though my hands are a bit full at the moment."

And despite the fact that Theo had planned a quick trip for coffee and a jaunt around the bookstore before going home for the evening, he found himself smiling and following her dutifully to a table by the window.

It was miniscule, a wooden booth with polyester seats no larger than a few metres wide. One side of the booth was already piled high with yet more books and her knapsack, and when she took the tomes in his hand and piled the rest of them onto the bench seat, there was little room for him to sit.

Theo stood awkwardly, watching as she fussed with the contents of the booth to try and reorganise it into a semblance of order, but she quickly gave up the fight and turned a toothy grin on him.

"It seems as though I've managed to make a fool of myself a second time." Her blush returned, making the freckles that dotted her cheeks stand out against her skin. "We've really got to stop meeting like this."

Theo waved her off. "It's nothing. Honestly, it's only a matter of time before I make a fool of myself in front of you, too." She quirked her head at him before he realised his mistake. Like he _wanted_ there to be another time they met. "Er, not that I think you're obligated to see me again. That's not what I mean. Uh—" His hand came up to the back of his neck, scratching it softly as he felt his own blush rise on his cheek. "What I mean to say is—"

"Why don't you sit?"

His brows shot upward, eyeing her sceptically, but when she didn't immediately renege her words, he nodded. "Are you sure?"

She looked up at him, her eyes tracing over the books in his hand, the messenger bag slung over his shoulder, and she bit her lip with a smile. "Positive." Hermione gestured with her hand, and he slid into the booth. Once he was settled, she put her hands on her hips, staring down at him. "Now, what's your favourite drink here?"

The question startled a laugh out of him, and he drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "You'll laugh."

Hermione arched a brow. "I've known you all of ten minutes, and you think I'll laugh if you tell me your favourite drink?"

Theo stared down at his fingers, struggling to find a witty response to her question. In the books he read, the men were always so suave and confident. He didn't kid himself that life was like the classics; there was a reason they were considered classics, and it was largely because they depicted a life long lost to humanity. But he thought he fell solidly into the Peeta Mallark sector: awkward, quiet, and desperately out of touch with anything to do with women despite the fact that a beautiful one stood before him asking for his coffee order.

And he was staring at her.

Hermione cleared her throat, glancing away, and Theo felt the tips of his ears blaze. _How long had he been staring at her?_

In a quiet voice, he answered her question, looking anywhere but at her. "Caramel macchiato. Hot, not iced." His blush intensified as he added the last bit. "Extra whip."

"Right." Hermione looked like she was fighting a grin, and he gripped the tabletop awkwardly. With a nod, she backed away from the table. "Drinks on me!" With that, she sashayed away to the counter, skirt swirling around her thighs before he could protest.

So he sat at her table, drumming his fingers on it while he waited for her to return, trying valiantly not to look as awkward as he felt.

Never mind that he'd only known her for ten minutes, Hermione was an enigma to him. If he was honest, most women were. That's why he stuck to books. But something about her easy acceptance and shy smile, the way her out of control hair seemed to take on a life of its own as she chatted with the barista while waiting for his drink… it made his heart clench just a bit. Finally, though, she whirled from the counter and back to the booth, finally sliding in next to him and pressing her thigh against his.

"One caramel macchiato, hot, with extra whip." She nudged his shoulder when she handed the paper cup over, their fingers brushing, and Theo tried to ignore the racing of his heart.

He barely knew her. He needed to chill.

With careful determination, he lifted the cup to his lips, taking a sip before he spoke. "So, I haven't seen you here before. Are you new to the area?" He cringed, the pinch to his voice obvious to his own ears.

Hermione chuckled. "Is that a covert way of asking if I come here often?" She nudged his shoulder again, and Theo echoed her laugh despite himself. "I just moved here. My parents had a dental practice in Hampstead, but they recently sold it and moved to Australia." She shrugged. "And so here I am. Trying to muddle my way through on my own."

Theo nodded. "I understand that. My father isn't a great man—he's in prison—and my mum died when I was young, so it's just me." It wasn't a tale he told often, but something about Hermione made him feel comfortable enough to disclose the information.

Suddenly, her hand wrapped around his, understanding shining in her eyes. "I won't say I know how you feel because I don't, but you can talk about it. If you want." Hermione squeezed his hand. "In any case, thanks for telling me."

Theo stared up at her, lost in her eyes, and he swallowed hard. "It's okay… and thank you." Taking a leap of faith, he turned his hand, lacing his fingers through hers.

Hermione started a bit, and Theo froze, waiting for her to draw away or curse at him, but instead she relaxed into the booth, leaning slightly against him.

"So, this is the part where you start to tell me about yourself so I don't worry that I'm holding hands with a serial killer." Her hair brushed against his neck as she spoke, the soft scent of roses wafting around her and enveloping him in its draw. Inexplicably, he leaned into her, inhaling and closing his eyes.

And so he told her, fighting every urge in his body that told him to turn his head _just_ _so_ and place a kiss to the top of her head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! So I wanted to post this Tuesday but held out until Friday. I feel like that's a good compromise - or just an excuse to justify my poor impulse control lol. Thank you for all your lovely responses to chapter 1!

**Chapter 2**

“So, Theo, what’s it like?”

Somehow, Theo had managed to invite her to lunch the following day without making a fool of himself. He’d taken her to a park, laid on the plaid blanket, and unpacked the picnic basket he’d painstakingly put together. Head in his lap, Hermione stared up at the sky while she popped grapes in her mouth. 

“What’s what like?” Theo leaned back on his elbows, following her gaze. The sky was littered with fluffy white clouds, birdsong accompanying their conversation. Somewhere behind them, children laughed and a dog barked, but Theo only cared about the words she spoke.

The crunch of grapes sounded between them, and for a moment, Theo thought she hadn’t heard his question. Hermione swung upright, though, crossing her legs beneath her as she pushed the sleeves of her lightweight sweater up to her elbows. The weather was starting to warm, and he found he quite liked the unobstructed view of her collarbone in the slight vee of her cable knit sweater.

Warmth blazed up his cheeks, and he chastised himself. Getting hot and bothered over a  _ collarbone _ was ridiculous. 

Hermione spoke then, so quietly he nearly missed it. “Being so devilishly handsome and whatnot?” Her hand fluttered in the air between them as she spoke, a matching blush rising prettily to her chest. Theo was captivated, watching the warm glow spread up her cheeks and tint the tips of her ears red.

When he finally met her gaze, she blinked, shifting uncomfortably, and it finally registered what she’d said. “Wait… me? Handsome?” He sounded dense even to his own ears, and he stifled a groan. “Hermione, have you looked in a mirror?”

She startled, glancing up at him as her blush burned brighter. “Surely you don’t mean— I… we’re not talking about me, Theo.” Her hands skittered over her knees, and Theo grinned despite himself.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.” His hand captured hers, weaving his fingers into the spaces between hers. They’d held hands before, in the coffee shop, but something felt different this time. Like an acknowledgement, an inquiry, and the tightening of her fingers around his an answer. 

With a glance up from beneath her fringe, Theo’s eyes locked onto the endless caramel depths of hers. His breath lodged painfully in his throat when she spoke, breathy and unsure. “Only when I’m flustered?” 

His laughter danced between them; he would have sworn he was hurtling through the air the way his heart swooped at the warmth in her eyes. “Gods, no. Always.” His other hand slipped up her arm, somehow having migrated to her lower back between the time she’d sat up next to him and when his fingers wound between his own. Slowly, he brushed his knuckles over her cheekbone, in awe at how smooth her skin was, how the freckles seemed to splash across her skin in a constellation uniquely Hermione.

Her breath caught, and he looked up, begging permission. When her eyes fell to his lips, he nearly groaned at her tongue flitting out to wet her own. It was all the permission he needed.

He leaned in, slowly closing the distance between them. Hermione’s hand tightened on his, her heartbeat pounding where their wrists touched. Her eyes fluttered shut; eyelashes swept across her cheeks, and Theo hardly dared breath as his own eyes fell shut.

They were a hairsbreadth apart. So close they shared a breath.

And suddenly, thunder boomed above them, and they sprang apart as the sky opened and cool, early spring rain poured down on them. 

Hermione stared at Theo, her mouth open in shock. With a cry of laughter, Hermione swept the remaining lunch into the basket, trying desperately to arrange it in shelter. He followed her lead, shoving sodden sandwiches into the basket while they laughed like mad in the sudden downpour, their clothes soaked and clinging to them, Hermione’s hair flattened into a mass of sodden ringlets down her back. 

Together, they sprinted to the cover of a tree, the blanket smacking against Theo’s back with a horrible squelching noise as they went. When they skidded to a stop beneath the tree and he threw the blanket and basket to the ground, Hermione was shivering violently, her lips tinged a slight blue despite the laughter that shook her shoulders, and she peered up into Theo’s eyes.

He suddenly, painfully aware of the soft curve of her hips, the dip that his hand rested in and the way her breath hitched her breasts. He could feel the soft pebble of her nipples beneath her thin sweater, and he tried valiantly to shift away from her so as to hide his growing excitement from the girl he’d only spent a handful of time with. 

“What now?” Her voice was breathy, and Theo couldn’t seem to drag his attention away from the crest of her lips, the subtle blue that he wanted to kiss life back into. 

This was familiar territory, the last time having been so close to a girl ending disastrously when their braces had locked together in their seventh year and they’d had to walk through the crowds of their peers with their teeth locked together. 

Hermione didn’t have braces, and neither did he, but he felt those same swooping nerves settle in his stomach. His gaze flickered to her eyes and back to her lips, her expression begging for him to just close the distance between them, to kiss her, something stopped him. Whether it was nerves or his inexplicable need for everything to be perfect and romantic after his disastrous first kiss, he wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t close the distance between them.

As much as Theo wanted to kiss her, wanted to sweep her into his arms and press her to him in the pouring rain like one of those romance movies all the girls seemed to love, he didn’t.

Instead, he grabbed her hands and pulled her away from the waterlogged blanket, away from the ruined food, and he stood. Hermione peered up at him, brows drawn in confusion, and he shouted over the rain. “Dance with me!”

Hermione’s eyes widened, the whites around them evident in her surprise. But with a loud whoop, she spun on her heel and ran through the rain, wild curls soaked through and sticking to her back as she sprinted to the top of the hill. 

And Theo followed her, sweeping her up in a spin that sent her laughter ringing across the park until they slowed into a gentle sway as rain fell around them.

* * *

Theo wiped his hands on his trousers for the fourth time in fifteen minutes, trying valiantly not to allow Hermione to see his absolute loss for words.

They were at some fancy restaurant she’d asked him to, and he hadn’t known how to dress. After a frantic trip to Draco’s designer, he’d walked out in charcoal slacks and a crisp suit jacket. He’d tried to pair it with a tie, but Draco had told him that women tended to like a man a bit undone. A salacious wink had accompanied the statement, and Theo had walked out of Draco’s shop feeling no more confident than when he’d walked in.

But now, judging by the way her eyes lingered on the line of his throat and the tiny sliver of his chest that peeked through the open vee, he reckoned he’d made the right choice.

Theo made a mental note to thank Draco later.

The waiter arrived, taking their order, and Theo ordered the first thing his eyes landed on. When a sparkling glass of liquid landed before him, he cocked his brow skeptically. 

Hermione cleared her throat. “I took the liberty of ordering some liquid courage while you were lost in your head.”

Theo nodded quietly, taking a tentative sip of the liquid before him. Chardonnay. With a quiet nod to the waiter, he signalled that it was good, and the man filled both their glasses before spiriting away. 

“So,” Hermione started, paging through the menu, “How has your week been?”

Theo peered up at her from beneath his lashes, watching the pretty blush spread up her neck. Surely she wasn’t nervous… was she? “It was good. It was rather boring though.”

“Oh?” She cocked her head at him, studying him from across the table. 

Theo nodded his head, having settled on his dinner. The waiter returned, taking his attention from her, and they both placed their orders. After the waiter left, he spoke. 

“I missed you at Cozy. It was strange to find my chair unoccupied for once.” He aimed a mock stern look at her, and Hermione erupted into laughter.

She levelled her finger at him. “How was I to know, Theodore Nott, that some debonair man with a penchant for quoting classical literature happened to frequent the chair that I stumbled upon one afternoon?” Hermione smoothed her hands over her dress, a pretty plum number that she had matched with black pumps that had sent his blood pressure skyrocketing. 

With another sip of his drink, he shrugged. “I suppose it was my lucky day. It’s not every day that a beautiful girl falls into your path.” 

This game they played, casually flirting without outright naming their intentions, was exhilarating. Theo hung on her every word, allowed his eyes to linger on the barely-there swell of her breast, the line of her jaw when she tilted her head back into laughter.

She calmed and spoke. “You know, it’s really rather odd. It feels as though I’ve known you forever, instead of just a month.” 

Theo tipped his glass, an acknowledgement that he’d thought the same. “It is quite easy with you.”

Hermione hummed her agreement. “So, tell me about her.”

Theo startled. “Who?”

Picking up her glass, she eyed him knowingly. “The girl that broke your heart. Who was she?”

The tips of his ears burned, and Theo reached blindly for the drink before him. Liquid courage. Thank his lucky stars that  _ one  _ of them was thinking clearly. He downed half the glass in a gulp and signalled the waiter for another.

A low whistle sounded across from him, and he glanced up at Hermione’s wide eyes behind her glass. “Careful, there.”

With a grimace, Theo responded. “There wasn’t one, not really. I’ve always been rather fond of books, you see, and what with university, I haven’t had much time to delve into dating.”

Hermione eyed him over the glass. “And yet you’ve had plenty of time to spend with me.”

There it was again, skirting whatever this was slowly blossoming between them. When the waiter arrived with another glass, he took another large sip. The liquid warmth raced through him, warring with the nerves that her keen eyes brought to the surface.

“Theo, the bottles are expensive.”

If it was possible, the tips of his ears burned brighter. “Money is, uh… not really a problem for me.” He was sheepish, reluctant to share the knowledge of his financial security. When Hermione’s brow arched impossibly higher, he sighed. “My father was quite well off.”

Understanding lit Hermione’s features. “Ah.” One syllable, and it was enough for Theo to wince at the weight of everything she’d left unsaid. 

“It’s not that I’m trying to flaunt it —believe me, I’d rather do anything else—but sometimes… I forget.” The excuse was lame even to his own ears, and he flinched harder.

Hermione, though, seemed to take pity on him and clasped his free hand across the table. “Theo, I understand. You can’t help the way that you were raised. It’s learned.” After squeezing his hand, she leaned back in her chair, taking a deep pull from her own glass. “My parents were dentists.” Theo nodded. “It’s not as if I’m a stranger to money. I guess inherited wealth is quite different.”

He thought about it for a moment, swirling the wine in his glass. “I suppose so, though I don’t know if it has anything to do with it being inherited. I just saw the way my father spent money, and I suppose it’s a habit I picked up without realising it.” With a sigh, he set his glass down. “I’m quite glad you pointed it out, actually. I’d like to be able to distance myself from him as much as possible.”

Their entrees arrived, and they dug in, both complimenting the dinner prepared and steering away from the previous topic. After a few moments, Hermione spoke again. “It’s not bad, you know? To be a little like your father.”

The comment knocked the air out of his chest, and he took a steadying breath before he studied her across the table. She was bloody gorgeous and so very confident in the way she held her chin up at him defiantly, defending him from himself. “He was my hero. For the longest time, I wanted nothing more than to be just like him, to make him the proudest person in the world. He taught me how to play guitar, how to drive.” He cleared his throat, swallowing down the knot that had risen in it with another sip of the chardonnay. “And gods, my mother, she loved him so much. Her family was her life.”

Tears threatened, and he took a moment to take another bite of his food, to study the other patrons in the restaurant, to look at  _ anything  _ but the sympathy in Hermione’s eyes. “When she died, our whole world stopped. It was so unexpected—just a trip to the grocery store. But she never came home.” Theo studied his plate, his appetite gone. “A car accident, of all things.”

Hermione sniffled, tears in her own eyes as her silverware clattered to her plate and her hand clasped his again. 

“My father changed after that. After the funeral, he secluded himself for days. He only came out to make me food and then disappeared back into their bedroom. It existed in a constant state of limbo, her shoes kicked off by the front door like she’d return home any moment to straighten them.” He sucked in a breath and squared his shoulders. “He lost his job, started leaving the house at strange hours, and then he started showing up at home bloodied and bruised. I wasn’t old enough to understand what it meant until the police showed up at our house and arrested him.”

He huffed out a harsh laugh. “He’d fallen in with a group of men that were doing hits for one of the drug circles in London. They were horrible, Hermione. The drug that they manufactured… they called it Crucio because it would cause excruciating pain if someone took too much. And people did take too much.” Theo couldn’t meet her eyes when he said the last part. “People died. A lot of people.”

Across from him, Hermione’s chair shifted back, and she abandoned her dinner, sliding into the chair next to him to wrap him in a hug. Despite the contact, his face burned with shame. He didn’t know what had led him to spill his entire sordid childhood with her, but it felt like a weight had lifted off his chest. 

“You’re not him, Theo.” The words were muffled into his suit jacket, and when he pulled back, he noticed the tears in Hermione’s own eyes. “You loved your father at one point—choose to remember the good stuff. You don’t have to forgive him, and you don’t have to forget. I don’t blame you for holding on to this. But you don’t have to live with that hate anymore.”

It was an absolution, one that he didn’t feel like he deserved, and he didn’t know how to handle it. “So it’s not a girl that broke my heart. Really, it’s that I don’t want to be my father. Books, living vicariously through characters… you can’t really disappoint anyone if you don’t allow yourself to get too close.”

She drew back, and his hand wandered up to her cheek. It was then that he knew, that he realised what he’d been ignoring the last few weeks as they spent more time together, made excuses to brush against one another innocently.

Theo had allowed Hermione Granger into his space and, in doing so, his heart. 

When his thumb brushed her cheekbone, she sighed and leaned into his touch. Slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, she closed the distance between them. Heart pounding in his ears, his eyes fluttered close, praying to whatever beings might be listening that he wouldn’t mess this up.

And a throat cleared next to them.

Their waiter peered down at them sheepishly, hands tucked behind his back as he rocked on his heels. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but the restaurant has closed for the night. May I get you a box for your meals?” 

Without waiting for a response, the man raced away. The spell effectively broken, Theo fell backward in his chair, containing the groan that tried to escape. 

A tinkling laugh met his sigh, and he eyed Hermione. 

“Thwarted again.” The slight quirk of her lips dissipated the frustration he felt and he answered her laugh with one of her own.

The waiter approached again, sheepishly offering their check and to-go containers that both of them waived away. Without a second thought, Theo threw down a generous tip with the bill and swept out of his chair, offering Hermione his hand. 

Tugging her upright and watching her smile threaten was more than Theo could have hoped for. With a spontaneous jerk of his hand, he slipped her into his arms, smiling into her hair as her hands wound around his waist and tightened. 

Rose. Her perfume was definitely rose. 

When she pulled away, he tucked a curl behind her ear. “You are so bloody beautiful.”

Her grip tightened, and her smile could have lit the night. “Help me find a cab?” 

Theo would have walked to the ends of the earth if she had asked him to, but he settled for a nod.

They passed janitorial staff as they walked they short path to the door, whispering to each other about their poor manners in staying late. When Theo accused her of wanting him all alone, Hermione simply grinned wickedly at him over her shoulder.

His heart nearly stopped in that moment, but the rapid fire pounding propelled him forward once more.

The London night was cool, and couples walked along the pavement outside the restaurant, and taxis zoomed by on the street. Hermione spun as she stalked backward on her heels, her plum dress swirling around her knees as she tried to flag down one of the careening cars.

Without so much as pausing, Theo swept his suit jacket off his shoulders, wrapping it around Hermione’s when he slid behind her, using the moment to nuzzle his hair against that spot behind her ear, the one that smelled like rose, and he smiled when she sank into him.

“Theo…” The word was breathy, but he could hear the lilt to her lips in his tone. “I’m really not all that cold.” Her protest was weak, and he wrapped the jacket around her tighter. 

“Maybe I just wanted an excuse to be close to you.” Theo wasn’t sure where this person had come from, where he had found such suavity under his sweaty palms and racing heart, but he was going to milk it for all it was worth. 

Hermione’s throaty laugh met the statement, and she turned, palms resting against his chest as she stared up into his eyes. With her heels, she was closer to his height. Her gaze was bright, and he could see the streetlights reflected in their depths. “If you wanted to be close, all you had to do was ask.”

Again, Hermione closed the distance between them, her arms wrapping around his waist as her torso pressed against his own. Theo’s gaze narrowed to her face, the freckles smattering the bridge of her nose, the hopeful gleam in her eyes as his hand crept into her curls.

A yellow blur squealed to a halt beside them, and the window opened. From within, a cranky voice shouted, “Oy, you want a ride or not?” 

With a groan, Theo dropped his forehead to Hermione’s, and they shared a breath for a moment before she answered with a weak, “Yes.” 

Slowly, Theo extricated himself from her grasp, his chest already morning the loss as the cold air swept into the space between them. “I think this is your ride.”

Hermione’s gaze slowly dragged upward from his lips, her voice still breathy. “Right. My ride.” 

Before he could allow himself to second guess, he dipped his head and pressed a kiss to her cheek. So close— _ so incredibly close _ —to the place he wanted to press his lips, but he didn’t allow himself to. 

If he kissed her now, he might drag her home and never stop kissing her.

When he pulled back, a brilliant smile lilted her lips, and Hermione stumbled on unsteady feet to the cab. Slowly, she pulled the door open and dropped into the seat, her hand rising to her cheek. 

“I’ll call you,” he promised, easing the door shut behind her as she nodded.

Just as the cab pulled away, her eyes widened, and she frantically lowered the window. “Your jacket!” She made to pull it from her shoulders, but the cab pulled into traffic.

“Keep it.” Theo’s hand raised as she fell back into the seat, disbelieving laughter spilling out the open window. When the cab pulled away into the street, he didn’t reign in the whoop he hollered into the night before he began the long walk home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alpha love to the wonderful LadyKenz347 and beta hearts to mcal - I'm lucky to call them friends.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Due to my inability to control my impulses (lol whoops), my Sunday update schedule is out the window and I will now post this every five days. Chapter 4 will be coming to you on Monday. Forward, a wee little chapter, but an important one nonetheless.

**Chapter 3**

Theo hadn't even made it a day before he called her. When he arrived at his flat after the cold walk home, he slipped his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed her number, listening to the ring echo down the line. After a moment, she picked up.

"Hey there, stranger." He could hear the grin in her voice, and his own answered.

"It turns out that I just couldn't wait to talk to you." He dropped into the chair by his front door, toeing off his shoes with her laughter in his ear.

After a moment, Hermione spoke. "I didn't get a chance to thank you for dinner tonight. It was lovely, truly."

Theo scoffed. "Yes, listening to me divulge my sordid childhood is truly lovely. Really, you ought to get an award for listening to all that—"

With a noise of protest, Hermione interrupted. "It's not sordid, Theo. I want to know you. Your past, what you like." After a pause, she spoke again, and this time a nervous tremor underscored her tone. "I meant what I said when I told you that I quite liked you."

Theo sobered instantly, gripping the phone tightly in his hand. "I like you too, Hermione." Both of them breathed in the silence of the mutual confession, soaking up the silence and the emotions it held. "I should have asked you this earlier, but—"

"Yes."

Theo huffed a laugh. "I haven't even asked anything."

Something smacked on the other side of the phone, and Hermione's next words were muffled. "But I know what you're going to ask."

"Are you speaking to me with your head smashed in a pillow?" Laughter laced his words.

A groan echoed down the line and Hermione spoke, slightly clearer this time, as if she'd barely lifted her head from the covers. "It's not nice to make fun of your girlfriend."

Theo swore he forgot how to breath. He frantically searched his mind for a way to respond, something suave, something smooth, something that would sweep her off her feet, something that one of the male leads in the books they'd read would use. Instead, his voice had a slight squeak to it when he said, "My girlfriend?"

Smooth, Theodore.

Suddenly, Hermione's voice was very clear, and she rambled into the phone. "Your girlfriend… unless that's truly not what you were going to ask, in which case you should probably forget the last thirty seconds of this conversation, and I will hang up to be alone with my shame and—"

Taking pity on her, Theo interrupted, "Hermione, will you be my girlfriend?"

The sound of her flopping onto her bed echoed down the line again; relief laced her tone. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

They'd stayed up talking most of the previous night, and Hermione had quickly agreed to meet him again the next morning. He'd planned a date to the Garden Squares of Bloomsbury, his favorite place to write, and he'd brought his guitar along.

He wasn't sure of much when it came to women outside of books, but he thought it fairly safe to assume that it was a universal truth that all women liked a man who played the guitar.

It was a short drive from her flat to the garden, and they'd talked nonstop most of the way there. Hermione had insisted they play a game she'd played with her parents as a child and quizzed him on everything from his favourite colour—green—to his biggest fear—spiders, without a doubt. When they'd arrived, he unpacked the boot, pulling out the same picnic basket and blanket from their last ill-fated park date before he took her hand in his and strolled to the buildings lining the park with his guitar strapped across his back.

They talked as they walked, Hermione continuing to pelt him with questions. "To get to know him better," she'd claimed, though he was rather convinced that the line of questioning was to mask her nerves and prevent him from redirecting the questions at her.

When he tugged her toward Gordon Square, Hermione protested. "I thought you wanted to—"

With a squeeze of her hand, he silenced her. "I just want to show you something."

They slowed to a stop before a building with a plaque on it, one of many in the area but the only one which Theo had thought of import to Hermione.

"Theo, what—" As her gaze lit upon it, her breath gusted out of her. "Is this— have you really taken me to _Virginia Woolf's_ house?"

Theo scoffed. "Virginia Stephen, technically. She wasn't married yet when she lived here."

With an absent swat to his arm, Hermione bounced on her toes. "Don't ruin it." She stared up at it in awe, her gaze tracing the lines of the windows and doors. "I can't believe she lived here."

With a shrug, Theo set the basket and blanket to the side, wrapping his arms around her waist as they stared up at the house. "She was quite the woman, wasn't she?"

Hermione hummed her agreement. "A genius, if you ask me."

He couldn't disagree, so he instead looked down at her. If nothing else good happened that day, then he'd at least be able to remember the smile on her face as she stared up at her idol's home. "I brought us lunch; I thought we could eat and then spend the afternoon here, writing if you'd like."

Wide brown eyes peered up at him, and the smile that stretched across his face was enough of an answer for Theo. "Do you mean it?" When he nodded, she pressed up onto the balls of her feet and pressed a kiss to the underside of his chin. "You're really quite wonderful, you know?"

With a tug on his hand, she pulled him to a grassy spot beneath a tree and spread her blanket, staring up in awe at the house every few moments.

* * *

"I wouldn't make a good protagonist." Theo strummed his guitar thoughtfully, the sound echoing across the space between them as Hermione stared at him.

With a curious furrow in her brow, Hermione set her notebook aside. "What do you mean?"

All afternoon, they'd lounged on the quilt in the shade of the tree and talked, but Theo kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was too perfect, too good to be true, and his nihilistic worldview didn't allow him to bask in the glow of a new relationship long before trying to pick it apart.

"It's like… you know in books, that moment when something happens to the protagonist, something big and life-changing? As a reader, you know; that's the moment that everything changes for them. It's like a fork in the road, to poorly quote Frost." Hermione chuckled, and he continued, staring down at his fingers on the frets. "That's never happened to me—or when it does, I choose the wrong path."

Hermione leaned back on her palms, studying him. "I'm not sure I follow."

Theo strummed again, a melody stringing its way through his mind and he paused, slipping his pick into his mouth to jot the music down in his journal. He tapped his pen on the journal, weighing the words in his mouth before he spoke. "I'm something of a self-sabotager." A gust of wind turned the pages in his journal, and he stuck his pen in it before continuing. "Opportunities pop up, and I let them pass by. It's like I get to the fork and one side is labeled 'this is the safe route' and the other says 'change here.' And I freeze."

He stretched his legs out before him, settling the guitar between them as he plucked at the strings.

With a nod, Hermione leaned forward and covered his hand with hers. "It's okay to be afraid, you know? And changes don't always have to be big. The thing about books is that the gestures always look grand; the protagonist makes some life-changing decision without weighing the situation." She smiled up at him, and his heart stalled in his chest. "The thing about books is that we have the luxury of being privy to information the protagonist isn't; that makes it seem easy."

Her words settled on his chest, the truth of them uncomfortable.

"Just be yourself, Theo." Her grip on his hand tightened. "I quite like you the way that you are."

He nodded, staring down at the guitar before he spoke. "What if I don't know how to be myself?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "Well, I think you've been doing a remarkable job of it while we've been together. You're funny, charming, sweet. Handsome…" Her smile was tentative, and she shifted next to him, crawling across the blanket.

Suddenly, she was in such close proximity that he didn't know what to focus on. Her perfume swelled in the space between them, and it invaded his senses, stealing all rational thought.

When he finally regained the ability to speak, his words were raspy and his voice lower than he'd recalled it being before. "Right." Slowly, her hands peeled the guitar out of his own, and she turned, leaning back until her back pressed against his front.

She was just so _small_ , he marvelled as she nestled herself into the space. Not to say that she was _too_ small. It's just that Theo was so tall, gangly and awkward with too-long legs and skinny arms. His hands were bony and his fingers spindly. Hermione was all curves and supple feminine grace wrapped up in a short frame.

Head tipped back against him, Hermione spoke. "Will you teach me?"

Theo fought a shiver as her breath tickled his neck, her stature small enough that she didn't quite reach his shoulder even when sitting. He nodded and wrapped his arms around her, positioning her fingers on the frets. "We'll start with something simple.

When she nodded, he leaned forward, resting his chin on her shoulder. "The first thing my dad taught me was to play a C." Vulnerability. He didn't like the way his chest ached at the comment, but he pushed on. "Middle of the staff. You can go up and you can go down." His fingers brushed over hers as he spoke. When she nodded, he continued. The simplest way to play a C is to put your fingers on the third fret on the A string."

When her fingers didn't move, Theo peered over her shoulder at her face. Brows drawn, she'd pulled her lip between her teeth as colour crawled up her cheeks. "Hermione?"

"Which one is the A string?"

Theo laughed. "It's the second lowest in tone, so it's the second biggest. Second from the top."

Gently, he slid her fingers up to the string and pressed. "This is the A string. Now, don't press down just yet; strum it." She did, using her pointer finger to daintily pluck the string. "That's an A."

She chuckled lightly, gazing up at him. "Never would have guessed."

He couldn't tear his gaze away from her lips, cherry red from where she'd bitten them in her uncertainty. "Now, if you slide your fingers down here—" he moved her fingers as he spoke, still gazing at her mouth, entranced as she drew her lip between her teeth in concentration again "—and press down, you'll get a C."

She strummed, and the note rang out between them. A delighted smile curved her lips upward, and Hermione beamed up at him, her tongue flitting out to soothe the spot she'd bitten. "I did it."

"You did." The moment stretched out between them, each holding their breath. His mind raced. What if he did it wrong or was bad at it? He cursed himself for his nerves, but tried to steel them anyway. And suddenly, a dog barked as its owner chased it past them, and Theo cleared his throat and looked away. "So, um—"

And just like that, the illusion shattered, and his reality came crashing down around him.

"Right." Hermione sighed, pushing herself away from him. With a silent huff, she gathered the books around her and stuffed them into her bag.

Theo searched for the right words to say, anything to apologise and make the moment right, but words failed him as he watched her brow pull into a disappointed furrow.

"Hermione, I—"

She held her hand up, blinking harshly to keep the tears at bay that had suddenly sprung to her eyes. Pushing a harsh hand through his hair, Theo pushed the guitar aside and knelt before her, trying to stop the tirade she'd started.

"It's okay, Theo. Maybe I misread the situation or pushed too hard." Her voice was tight with unshed tears. Red blotches rose high on her cheekbones. "I don't know…"

He was an arse. There'd been so many signs, so many opportunities, and he'd buggered it up again. "I'm sorry, Hermione. Can we just talk?"

Her lips pulled into a mockery of a smile. "We've been talking, Theo, for weeks now. We spend most of our free time together. We flirt and laugh. We've gone on several dates." She laughed to herself, a self-deprecating chuckle that shot straight to his core and sent a wave of guilt through him. "I thought I was your girlfriend, but you've been given ample opportunity to kiss me, to prove that I'm not just reading into this, but you haven't. Have I been reading the whole thing wrong? Am I supposed to just keep putting my heart on the line for you to do with it as you please?"

He knotted his hands together as she spoke, at a loss for how to fix it. Treading so carefully so as not to mess up, he hadn't known how precariously close he was to breaking the tentative relationship they'd forged until it crumbled before him. "Just give me a chance to explain."

Hermione stood, gathering the remaining books in her arms as she struggled to heft her perennially overfull backpack to her shoulder. "Those paths you were talking about earlier? This was one of them." She paused, looking balefully down at her shoe digging into the earth beside their blanket. Her next words were quiet, carried away on a chilly gust of wind. "I wish you'd chosen the other one."

And then she walked away, leaving Theo alone with his notebook, guitar, and a sinking feeling in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alpha love to LadyKenz347 and beta love to mcal for their endless talents and generous offers of their time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday! I have a bit of a surprise - I've combined the last two chapters to make one larger chapter since they were only around 1,000 words each when separated. So welcome to the end! Prefacing this chapter with the fact that I'm not a poet or a songwriter, so I apologize if that bit is awkward lol. Thanks for tagging along as I updated this, & I hope you enjoy the ending. It wasn't a long ride, but it was fun! Thank you all for your kind words, mcal for her wonderful beta work and LadyKenz347 for alphaing this for me!

**Chapter 4**

Theo didn’t see her for weeks. She didn’t answer his phone when he called, and the bouquet of flowers he’d had delivered to her flat was accepted without further correspondence. 

The more he thought about that afternoon in the park, the worse he felt. She was right—he was being too cautious. He’d lived with his head in his books for so long that he hadn’t even realised that his own love story was staring him in the face. Instead, he’d allowed his fear of disappointing her get in the way and then let her down anyway.

He could have kicked himself. 

Then, after the fourth day with no word back, he started picking the situation apart. Though he wished he’d made a move, he began to stew on how unfair it was for Hermione to be mad at him when she very well could have kissed him too. So he bounced back and forth between frustrated at himself and then at her until he was thoroughly upset about the whole situation.

No matter how many times he stopped by the book shop or the coffee house, he couldn’t seem to catch her. The barista shook her head sadly whenever he asked after her; he’d either just missed her or she hadn’t been in for the day. It was like she had a sixth sense for knowing where he’d be and when he’d be there. And then she avoided it like the plague.

It was good for introspection, he supposed. In the two weeks since she’d walked away from him in the park, he’d taken the time to consider what she’d said. He was overly cautious, to the detriment of his social interactions. It was a wonder Draco still put up with him, and Hermione had been right to walk away.

Though he reasoned they both needed to work on communication. They’d been skirting the issue for so long that they both expected the other to make a move, and when neither did, it imploded.

Not a healthy way to start a relationship. 

When he finally found the courage to stop by her flat, he picked up a bouquet of flowers, determined to make him talk to her. After steeling his nerves, he bounded up the steps to her flat and knocked on the door.

Her voice called from within, and he bounded on the balls of his feet, waiting for the door to swing open and—he was sure—be promptly slammed in his face. 

Finally, the door opened, and Hermione shouted back over her shoulder. “Put something on the telly; I’ll be there in just a mo—” the words died in her throat as she took in Theo standing on the doorstep “In just a moment.”

Words were tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Hermione, I’m sorry; I’ve been an utter prat. I just— I like you so much—too much, probably for how little we’ve known each other—and I was bloody terrified to mess it up.” His palms were sweaty and his hands shaky as he eyed her frantically while a deluge of an apology spilled forth. “And I _do_ want to be your boyfriend, and I quite like you. I just guess that I forgot that I can’t wait for something to happen because this is my life and not a book and—”

Hermione’s eyes were wide when she interrupted him. “Theo, breathe.” 

He acquiesced, drawing in a deep breath before he continued. “I’m just in a bloody lot of like with you, and I hope you can forgive me. I don’t want to mess this up.”

A huff of a laugh sounded down the hallway, and a woman very nearly identical to Hermione ambled down the corridor. If at all possible, Theo’s blush deepened, and he quickly stammered out another apology as the woman drew near. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise you’d have company.”

The woman before him laughed again and stuck out her hand as Hermione’s lips tightened. “I’m not company; I’m the mom. Jean.” 

Theo could have died, but he stuck his hand out and shook the woman’s hand. “I’m Theo—”

“Theodore Nott.” Jean arched a brow at him. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”

“ _Mum_.” Hermione’s blush could have rivaled his own.

Jean shrugged. “It’s not every day that a mum meets the boy that has her daughter all in a tizzy.” She eyed the bouquet in his hands and nudged Hermione forward. “Look at that bouquet, Hermione.” Her next words were spoken in a stage whisper. “Looks like he’s come to apologise.”

When Hermione didn’t move, Jean backed down the hallway. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Theo. I’ll leave you two be so my daughter can properly accept your apology.” She shot him a wink and disappeared back through the doorway through which she’d come.

Theo stared at his feet, unsure what to say, but Hermione broke the tension for him. “You’re in a bloody lot of like with me?” He glanced up at her when she spoke, disbelief coursing through him when he thought he heard a smile in her tone. When his eyes met her own, it was confirmed; a twinkle danced in her gaze and her lips were quirked up in just the slightest hint of a smile. 

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I assumed it was a little too soon for— well, for anything else really.”

If his statement startled her, Hermione didn’t show it. Instead, she reached out and plucked the bouquet from his hands, admiring the flowers.

Her smile grew. “I should have known that a man with classical literature knowledge would also know the language of flowers too.” She shook her head. “Did you have to get every single flower that stood for apologies or remorse that the flower shop had?”

Theo bit his lip, embarrassment colouring his face again. “I didn’t have to, but when you’ve been a right git, it’s only right to properly apologise.” He stepped tentatively closer, hands folding over the curve of her hip when Hermione didn’t step away immediately. His gaze met hers, serious in their inquiry. “Am I forgiven?”

Hermione stared up at him, mirth shining in her eyes. “You’re forgiven. And I’m sorry.” She stared down at her feet. “I knew how much it meant to you, and I guess I didn’t want to wait… but you know what they say about good things and those who wait. And for what it’s worth, I’m in a bloody lot of like with you, too.”

The nerves in Theo’s stomach calmed, and he leaned in, intent on sealing the kiss that he’d been denying them both for far too long.

“Hermione, the movie’s about to start.” Jean poked her head out of the room she’d disappeared in, a wicked grin curving upward. “Theo, why don’t you join us and stop trying to snog my daughter on the step for the whole world to see?”

Hermione dropped her head to Theo’s chest, their groans rumbling together, and he followed her into the flat, hands clasped. 

* * *

Two weeks later found Theo fussing with the hem of his shirt, trying to decide whether or not he should tuck it in.

He refrained from looking too closely at himself in the mirror, because he knew what he’d see: a slightly sweaty brow, shaking hands, and a smile that tried too hard to be natural.

He wasn’t even sure what she’d think. Hermione knew he played the guitar, knew he wrote songs, but he hadn’t told her that he was writing about her. The last time he’d seen Hermione had been when her mother had insisted he joined them for the movie. Hermione had been busy since, enjoying time with her mother while she was in London, and Theo was beside himself with how much he missed spending time with her.

At some point during their evening with her mother, he’d asked her to spend an evening with him once his mother returned to Australia. Too quickly, though, the movie had ended and her mother had quizzed Theo for his intentions until it was too late to discuss the evening and he’d nearly forgotten about it until she’d texted him earlier in the day and asked what time to be at his flat.

And so Theo had spent the day in a panic, revising and substituting the song that he’d planned to play for her that night because he was sure he couldn’t handle playing that song yet, and _especially_ not in front of her. 

No, the nerves that threatened to overtake him had made him work through another four sets of lyrics when he finally threw caution to the wind and decided on the original lines.

Finally, he was picking the changes fork, but his stomach was roiling and he was beginning to regret his decision. 

And so Hermione had shown up on his doorstep, wearing that same sweater and soft smile that she’d had on when he met her, and his heart had melted into a puddle at his feet. 

Quickly, he ushered her inside and down the hall to his living room, detouring into the kitchen to prepare her a mug of tea from the kettle he’d boiled before he arrived. When he returned to the living room, he passed her the cup before falling into the seat he’d left his guitar propped against and stared at her.

“Hi.” He didn’t know where else to start, not when she stared at him with that look in her eyes.

“Hi.” Her grin split wider, and Theo’s heart thumped unevenly in his chest.

“Um, I—” He cleared his throat, unsure where to start. “I wrote a song, and I’d like to play it for you.” He lifted the instrument gingerly into his lap, staring down at the strings. 

With a careful hand, he flipped his notebook open before him and strummed the guitar nervously. “I know that I’m not the best at expressing how I feel; you make me nervous.” His chuckle was self-deprecating, but he looked up to meet her gaze anyway.

And suddenly, he saw her. Hermione was tucked away in her chair, feet folded beneath her and the mug grasped tightly in her hands, warmth apparent in her eyes even from the distance between them. 

No matter how nervous she made him, it was still Hermione. The girl he’d danced with in the rain, talked about the classics with, stayed too late in restaurants with. 

It was still her.

Theo cleared his throat, butterflies suddenly springing to life in the pit of his stomach, reawakening his nerves and sending his fingers trembling again. “I, uh— you see, I met this girl a little while ago.” His felt the blood rush to his cheeks, and he glanced up Hermione again, speaking at her rather than to her. “She changed the way I see the world. And I thought it was time that she knows what she means to me.” She held the coffee mug in both hands now, the ceramic blocking the lower half of her face.

But Theo didn’t miss the way her eyes pulled up in the smile she was hiding. 

“This is called ‘Changes’.”

With a deep breath, he began.

His fingers knew all the frets on his guitar, knew that way the chords sang just right as he strummed the instrument, low and sweet. He’d practiced it, but there was something about singing it in front of her that unnerved him, but his nerves fell away when she beamed encouragingly at him.

“ _Someone once said_ _  
_ _you can’t find peace by avoiding life_.” 

The lyrics spilled forth, his voice breathy and nervous over the strumming of his guitar. His heart roarded in his ears, the sound so loud that he wasn’t even sure if he sang the words right, but the look in her eyes as he sang to her spoke more than he could even ask.

“ _And Woolf was right when she said_   
_that language is wine upon lips,_   
_but I’d give up every last word I had,_   
_bottle them up and give them all to you,_ _  
if that wine could give me just a taste of your love_.” 

When he finished the last line, the room was quiet, suspended in that momentary silence that he would forever associate with the rumination of thoughts, the careful analysis of a moment that always put him on edge, made him hold his breath.

Warily, he lifted his gaze to Hermione.

She was blinking rapidly, a slight sheen to her eyes as she sat wrapped in the blanket and watching him with eye.

Slowly, she set aside her mug and then launched herself at him, supple curves pressed against him in all the right places. And in his ear, her words: “That was bloody beautiful.”

And Hermione Granger kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So five times Theodore Nott almost kissed Hermione Granger... and one time she kisses him. Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> To be updated on Sundays


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